A Fistful Of Apples: True Grit is Magic
by Deva Victrix
Summary: Strange happenings in Appleloosa! Applejack, convicted of a crime? How can this possibly be! Read and review! Frequently updated! Apples! May not be entirely suitable for little ones, hence, it is rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**FOREWORD:**

This story is partially influenced by SAND, a Penny-Arcade one off. It is also influenced by the FIM S1 Wild-West themed episode, OVER A BARREL, as well as various Wild West tropes as you might find in a Spaghetti Western. Ultimately, it is a Weird West tale - or a group of them - set in a humanized MLP universe.

That said...let us begin..

* * *

"...for these crimes, Applejack, you are to be hung by the neck, until you are dead, dead, dead."

The blonde girl standing on the platform said nothing. She tilted her head back and gazed up at the midday sun burning her skin, blinking under the brim of her Stetson. She licked dry, cracked lips, wriggled her hands - tightly bound together with rough rope, so tightly they cut into her white flesh - and shifted her weight from one boot to the other.

"Any last words?"

The crowd around the platform surged closer, straining to hear. They were all wearing their Sunday best, the men in fine suits, leather boots, wide hats, the ladies in beautifully tailored dresses of lace and silk, dripping with pearls, gems, and gold.

The town Sheriff strutted about on the gallows as he spoke to the girl, his bright star-shaped medal winking in the sun.

"Well?" he barked at her.

Applejack lowered her head, tilting her neck a little, as if the heavy rope about her neck chafed. She squinted at the crowd.

"It's mighty hot out today, mister."

The crowd roared. A stone whizzed past Applejack's cheek. She did not even so much as flinch.

The sheriff grabbed the wooden lever next to her and pulled. A trapdoor beneath Applejack's boots flung wide.

She tumbled through, the rope snapping taut, to the gasps and cries of the crowd. Her brown Stetson hat flew off of her long blonde hair.

There was an awful, wet snap, and Applejack's neck twisted at a vicious angle. Her feet kicked and swung wildly.

Each second ground on in dead silence. Applejack's body stilled. A sigh went through the crowd, as if they'd been holding in a collective breath.

The sheriff pulled free a long, sharp silver Bowie knife and began sawing the rope binding Applejack's neck with swift, sure strokes, cutting it free from the gallows. The crowd watched him, the men and women staring with glassy, shocked eyes.

Applejack's body fell bonelessly to the ground, face-first, as still and motionless as a ragdoll.

The crowd edged a little closer, some braver ones at the fore-front leaning close to get a good look at the convict.

Then Applejack's leg kicked weakly. Then her other.

The knife fell from the sheriff's shaking hands.

Applejack jerked her head, setting it firmly back into place with a crack. Slowly, as if each movement were agony, she settled back on her knees, raising her body upward.

Thin drips of red blood ran down her lip, cheek, and forehead from where she'd struck the ground face-first.

Her eyes snapped open, bright green irises glittering like hellfire. She cleared her throat and spat, thick, bloody red saliva.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey! Hey, missy!"

Applejack rolled onto her back, blinking up at her jail cell's solitary window, high above and criss-crossed with slender iron bars.

A small boy was insistently rattling a stick against them. "You 'wake yet, missy?" he shouted down at her raucously, with a big smile.

Applejack sat up on the rough stone floor, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. It only managed to make her look even dirtier and grubbier than before. No one had offered her a bath, or, in fact, even so much as a meal, yet.

Applejack yawned lazily, and settled her back against the jail cell's cold stone wall. "Well. 'Spect ah am, now, ya lil' cattle-rustler."

"How come you wearin' men's clothes? Y'look mighty funny in pants and a shirt, missy!"

"Ah -don't- look funny," Applejack shot back. "And anyway, y' can't get much farmin' done in a dress."

The boy stared at her. "Yer a farmer? Whatcha farmin'?"

Applejack grinned. "Apples. Big, juicy apples, bigger'n your head, redder 'n' ol' Santy-Claus's suit. The best darn apples you ever bit into. Shoot, if we were back at my ranch, Ah'd make you a dang old glass of apple cider - cool, sweet, 'n' fresher than the nasty, medicine-tastin' juice you'd get in such as a bottle 'round these parts, ah reckon."

"Oh." The boy looked around her cell. "Gee, it sure is dark 'n' dirty down here. What'd they getcha for, missy?"

"Dunno," Applejack said, cheerfully. She crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back, as though she were quite comfortable.

"My daddy sez you scared the grits outta the Sheriff, missy. He say, the Sheriff gon' try to burn you. Like they did with them old-time witches."

"Is he, now?" Applejack yawned widely.

"You ain't gonna die though, right?" The boy sounded nervous, little fingers tightening around the iron bars of her window.

"Nah."

"How come, missy?"

Applejack chuckled. "'Spect ah'm just too darn stupid. Don't even know how t' do that. Ah just like farmin'."

_


	3. Chapter 3

Applejack was just beginning to close her eyes again when the Sheriff arrived.

"Well, look at you. We been treatin' you a lot nicer'n you deserve, Miss. Got you some quarters f'r the night, a nice cozy bed."

Applejack swung her legs off the bed, sitting up slowly. "If'n it's all the same to you, Sheriff, sir, Ah'd rather be back at mah apple-orchards. It'll be Harvest time soon."

Something about the way Applejack spoke the word "Harvest" gave the Sheriff a feel of icicles sliding down his spine. Chiding himself for quailing before a mere girl, he sat down in a rough-hewn wooden chair, facing Applejack's cell.

"Welp. You won't hang, like reg'lar."

Applejack grunted her assent.

"So, I'm fixin' to burn you. That oughta do it."

"Maybe." Applejack turned away from the Sheriff.

"Now you look here, Miss." The sheriff struck his hand against Applejack's cell bars. "You ain't got no respect for the laws of Man, and you ain't got no respect for the Word of God, either. Man gets hung, he oughta die."

"Sheriff, ya forgot summin'."

"What?"

"Ah _hain't_ no man. Ah'm just a farm-girl who ain't on her farm." Applejack giggled, and cleared her throat, and spat.

"So what are you? Some kinda hell-spawn from the Dark, like the preacher-man tole us 'bout? You come to bring God's judgment on our poor lil' town, which ain't never seen the likes of a not-dyin' scoundrel like you?"

Applejack settled back against the stone wall, receding into shadow. Somewhere, a screech owl called. The clear, cold disk of the moon peeped in through her tiny, barred window.

"Just a farmer. Ah _told_ you," Applejack said, emphatically. "More 'n' that, this town wouldn't be so darn poor if'n y'all set to clearin' out them acres of land to the North. Ah seen't em on mah way in. Ah reckon you could grow a couple bushels of apples out there, maybe give it a few years, 'n' you'd get more apples 'n' you 'n' the whole darn town could eat."

"Listen, missy, we do things _different_, 'round these parts."

"Cain't say ah approve of yer ways, Sheriff. Lawmen are s'posed to protect women and children, y'know."

"If y' don't like it, Miss, maybe you think about prop'rly dyin' when we put you up on that stake, y'hear?"

The sheriff got up abruptly. Applejack thought he was going to spring the cell open, but then she found a small cup sitting at her elbow.

"Now, you just enjoy that sweet tea, y'hear? 'N maybe you kin get right with God afore tomorrow."

He left before Applejack could say anything. She listened to the heavy stomp of his boots receding into the distance. Before long, she was left to stare, all alone, at the single flickering candle-stub he'd left to light the darkness.

Applejack got up and stretched her arms over her head, grunting. Then she walked over to the candle. She drew in a deep breath, and blew it out, dousing herself in darkness.

Applejack lowered herself back onto her sparse little wooden bed. "Dang shame. Ah woulda preferred a nice nip of some..." She found herself yawning cavernously. "...some rye. Oh, well."

Applejack pulled her Stetson over her eyes and abandoned herself to sleep, to the sound of the owls calling in the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The hue and cry of a rooster brought Applejack upright.

The first few yellow-and-red rays of sunrise were streaming in through her little window.

Applejack stretched, feeling her shoulders and back joints crackling, grunting with the effort. She rubbed her neck, and thought about how nice it would be if someone offered her a wash and maybe a handle of rye.

Applejack swung her legs off the bed, standing up and walking over to the window, blinking in the morning light. She could barely see out of it.

With a little effort, she moved the bed over to the window. Then she clambered up on it and looked out the window.

The sandy main street of Appleloosa sat before her. Far away was the clock tower; shops, saloons, hotels, smithys, and offices, lined the the street. Many were in such sad states of disrepair, covered in dirt, with broken windows and missing doors, that Applejack had to wonder when last anyone had ever been in them.

There was a faint sawing sound in the distance. Someone was busy with a saw, she could tell.

Looking at the squat, dusty, ramshackle wooden buildings made Applejack's throat dry. She remembered the cup of sweet tea suddenly, and hopped off her bed to get it.

There were a few flies curiously investigating the cup's contents. Applejack knelt down, brushed them off, and took a sip. It was watery and stale. But she was also parched.

She was on her knees gulping down the tea when the Sheriff came in. The thick growth of black stubble on his chin and the bags under his eyes told Applejack he hadn't slept well. His eyes were red and swollen, which suggested that he'd been stoking his courage with a bottle a little before talking to her.

Nearly immediately, Applejack pounced on him. "Morning, Sheriff. Slep' good?" She rested lazily on the bars of her cell, and gave him a nonchalant smile.

He gave her a sharp look, sniffed and commenced to pulling his holster on, muttering under his breath.

"What's all that sawin,' sir?" Applejack sang out.

"Coffin-builder."

"Y'don't say."

"Ayup." The sheriff sniffed again, adjusted his holster. He gave her a very unfriendly glare. "He been workin' these parts here a spell. He kin take the measure of a man jus' by lookin' at him. I reckon that's your coffin he's sawin' over yonder. 'Course, that's if there's gonna be enough o' you to put inside."

He started back out of the room. "My boys are puttin' together a pile of firewood out back. Reckon they'll be finished before the sun's up - then we get this business over with."

The sheriff stopped halfway out the door. "It ain't right, you hear? Shoot, you kill a man, he oughta stay dead. You got no right to break the laws of nature like this. I ain't seen anything like this in all my years. Man gets killed, he dies, and he ain't a bother to any-one in the blessed world. Why cain't you just lie down an' die like a good Equestrian? You ain't s'posed to be alive."

Applejack studied the sheriff. His was a crooked, unhandsome face, with shaggy black whiskers and greasy black hair. But the terror she saw in the man's face gave her pause. She had been preparing a taunt most sharp for him.

But it broke and died in her throat, even as she looked at the Sheriff's haunted eyes. She realized the man was summoning every ounce of courage he could possibly reach, just to stay in the same room as her.

Applejack locked eyes with the Sheriff. "Honest, on the Princess's crown, ah swear, Sheriff. Ah'm just a farmer."

The sheriff let out a long sigh. "Shoot-dang, Miss. What's a farm-girl like you even doin' in these parts?"

"Ain't Appleloosa a apple-growin' town, sir?"

"Not since the Flim-Flam brothers came up. Between them and the Chief, this town ain't quite what it used to be." The sheriff smoothed his black mustachios nervously. "If'n you get ONE thing straight in your pretty lil' head, let it be this: stay away from the Flim-Flams. They'll make good an' darn sure you're dead, Miss. They're mighty smart, them Flim-Flams. And mighty cruel. You wonderin' why ain't nobody workin' them lands yonder? Shoot, nearly all the youngins are DEAD, Miss. That's why."

He paused, and then chuckled darkly. "You ain't gonna be alive much longer to worry 'bout it, so you just set there a spell while my boys build you a lil' ole camp-fire."


	5. Chapter 5

Saucer-shaped, silver spacecraft skimmed over the desert horizon.

There were two of them. They darted, swooped, and danced, spears of blue and red light slashing each other.

One shuddered and began to fall. The other shot off into the distance.

_

Applejack sat on her bed, swinging her legs and watching the sun come up.

There was a low, threatening hum. Applejack tilted her head and listened.

The hum was growing louder, more ominous, as if it were right above her. A sharp tingling shot down her spine. She dove to the extreme right of her jail cell and flung her arms over her head.

Seconds later there was an awful crash and an explosion that flung Applejack flat down on her belly. Ash and dust filled the air, blinding her. She felt flying splinters of wood strike her cheeks and arms.

Applejack coiled into a tight ball, hugging her legs to her chest. She could hear the low hum again, along with the crackling of flame. She struggled to sit up, coughing. Smoke tinged the air.

There was a long metal wall before her. It was quite tall - as if a giant, faintly rounded building had suddenly dropped from the sky, nearly on top of her. The jail cell was quite demolished. She could see people running in the distance. It rose quite high, punching through the ceiling of her cell.

Her eyes swam with water from the smoke. Applejack touched the metal sphere, and pulled her hand away quickly. "Ow! Darn it, that's hot. Now what's all this?"

Freedom lay just over the rubble of the jail cell's wall. But Applejack turned and made her way deeper into the sheriff's untidy little office. The thing that had crashed into it hadn't improved the room much. The table and chair lay scattered on the floor.

Smashed whiskey bottles littered the place - one or two had survived the fall, much to Applejack's pleasure. A box of cigars had spilled. Applejack noticed that the sheriff's gunsafe had been ripped open with the shock. She ran over to it and helped herself.

Minutes later, Applejack strode out of the burning building. A repeater rifle was slung over her back: two bandoleers of ammunition draped her shoulders. Two long-barreled, heavy revolvers - more like hand-cannons than anything else - sat holstered at her thighs.

There were people clustered at the far end of the metal wall. Applejack joined them. Nobody noticed her. They were nervously watching two men - the Sheriff, and one of his cronies, a squat little man with a paunch and a sparse hay-colored beard - rapping the steel wall with their gun barrels.

There was a sharp hiss, and a hatch opened in the metal wall. Steam poured off in thick clouds from the hatch The sheriff backed off, as did his partner. The crowd leaned in, straining to see. Applejack found herself pressed up at the front.

"Wonder what's in there?" one of the women at Applejack's side murmured.

"Shoot, we've got things fallin' outta the sky now," chuckled a man at her elbow.

A small man at the front turned and shushed them both severely. The steam was clearing. A brightly lit hallway led into the steel construct.

There were skittering and squealing sounds.

A large creature - nearly horse-sized - galloped out. It was all hard black carapace, like a beetle, and insectoid wings sprouted from its back. Yet, Applejack noticed, it was vaguely horse-shaped. Its teeth protruded from its muzzle, long and sharp and white.

The sheriff's partner screamed and ran. Very shortly, the men and women around Applejack did the same, pushing and trampling and milling about in blind panic.

The creature cast about like a wasp about to sting, its legs skittering on the ground, stabbing the soft dirt with sharp tips. Green, blazing eyes set on the Sheriff.

It charged him.

Applejack pushed a girl out of her way. "Move! Blast it, GIT-OUTTA-THE-WAY!" she screamed into the girl's face.

The creature was running at full tilt.

Applejack unslung the repeating rifle, bringing the stock up to her shoulder and lining the iron sights up on the creature. She squeezed the trigger.

BLAM!

The gun rang out as loudly as a thunderclap. A fist-size hole exploded out of the creature's head. It bleated weakly, tumbling in a ball to the ground.

Applejack worked the lever. The spent casing flew out. She ran over to the Sheriff and pulled the shaking man to his feet. "Look sharp, pardner. There's more o' them." She nodded grimly at the metallic ship. More loud skittering and screeches were coming from its bowels.

The sheriff grabbed her arm, wild-eyed. "What'll we do?" he yelled at her.

"Shoot back, darn it! SHOOT BACK! You a lawman or a wormy apple settin' on a branch, SIR?!" She threw him aside and dashed for cover, throwing herself flat behind a boulder.

More of the chitinous, glossy black creatures were pouring out of the vessel, screeching and baring their fangs, frothing green venom snapping at the air.

Applejack peered around the rock. Two of the creatures were sniffing at the air and fluttering their sheeny, clear, insectoid wings.

She bounced up, brought the repeater up to her shoulder, and lined up her iron sights on one of them. She squeezed the trigger. The rifle roared, blasting a hole through the creature's neck.

Applejack brought her sights on the other creature as it spun to and fro in confusion. A single squeeze of the trigger sent it tumbling to the ground, bleating and weakly skittering its legs.

Gunfire at her right told her the Sheriff was opening up. One of the creatures squealed in pain as its leg exploded in shards of green blood and chitinous armor.

The creatures were blinded by the muzzle-flashes of their guns. They spun and squealed, raking their claws skyward.

Then two of them shot into the sky, wings beating in a frenzy, buzzing like giant, angry bees.

"Miss! They're flyin'!"

Applejack turned to find the sheriff's companion at her side. She blinked at his squashed, homely face. "What? Ya yeller-bellied coward, ah thought you ran off! Look sharp!"

Applejack raised her rifle and brought the sights to bear on one of the flying creatures. Her first shot severed its wings. She followed it with her sights to the ground, following up with another shot to its gut.

The other one dove at her - then its head exploded into fine green mist and chitinous shards. The gunfire right next to her ear nearly deafened her. "Darn it! Don't fire that thing so close to mah ear!" she screamed at the man next to her.

Then one of the creatures hissed. It kicked its back legs up. Applejack heard a low, deadly whir, and saw black streams flying at her. "COVER!" she bellowed, ducking behind her rock.

She heard something thudding into the rock next to her. Applejack peeped up to find long black spikes - like chitinous daggers - stuck fast in her rock.

"They're firing back! Watch it!" she yelled at the Sheriff.

"Alright! Grimes! Let 'em have it!" he shouted at his partner.

Grimes leaned out from behind Applejack's stone, squinting at the bucking monster. He brought a snub-nosed little revolver up and squeezed the trigger.

Applejack heard squeals of pain and the loud, disgustingly wet sound of bullets ripping through flesh, the spattering of blood.

"Got 'im! I got 'im!" hooted Grimes, dancing up and down.

Applejack stood up carefully and surveyed the crash site.

Dead creatures lay everywhere. Some were still dying noisily, sucking at air, and scrabbling at the ground. She heard the Sheriff open fire on one, and a thud of a few hundred pounds of monster-flesh sliding back to the ground.

Applejack picked her way through them. She squatted down over one of them, sniffed at its wounds, and touched the green blood running from its flanks. "Ugh. Smells like...rotten cider," she murmured.

She stood up and fished around in her pocket. One of the slender little cigars - rather battered and abused-looking - came out. Applejack perched it on her lips, struck a match, and lit it. The mellow tobacco smoke tasted pleasant, and Applejack could feel her mind sharpening up.

Applejack turned and began walking into the open hatch of the vessel.

"Hey! HEY! You ain't goin' in there, are ya?" She found the Sheriff scampering up to her elbow, puffing with the exertion.

Applejack slung her rifle over her shoulder, and pushed her Stetson up with one finger. "Sure am, Sheriff. C'mon. Ah wanna see what kinda fancy flyin' house these dogies have. Ah reckon we'll find a pret-ty nice ca-che of goodies in there. Who knows? Mebbe one of 'em's still alive, too."

She tamped off some ash from her cigarillo, and settled it back at the corner of her mouth. Then she ducked into the hatch.


	6. Chapter 6

The spaceship was heaving and shuddering in its death throes. Applejack found the elevator ride back down so nerve-wracking she kept a firm hold on the wall the entire time. Grimes had chosen to sit down, undignified though it was, and the Sheriff was nearly bent double trying to keep his balance.

No one said anything. They were all too tightly wound to speak. They were waiting on one thing only; for the doors to open again.

Very shortly they did. Applejack shot down the green-lit passageway, with her companions in her dust. The floor bucked spectacularly just then, throwing Applejack into the wall. There was an ear-splitting explosion, somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship.

She scrabbled to her feet, half crawling, half running at first.

The exit hatch lay just before her. Applejack spared a quick look back. There was another explosion - this one sounded closer. Warm air, with a foul, oily smell, washed over her - probably the shockwave from the blast, Applejack thought.

"CELESTIA'S SAKE! GIT THE LEAD OUT! C'MON!" she screamed back at the Sheriff.

Then, without waiting to see whether they followed, she sprinted for the exit hatch.

Applejack kept running. If anything, she put on another desperate burst of speed, her heart thudding in her chest. Running-pains were stabbing her guts.

Then the final explosion hit her. Applejack felt herself lifted and flung - she screamed, and the sound was lost in the roar - then, abruptly, she hit the ground, and all was quiet.

Applejack lay still for a moment. She couldn't quite believe all her parts were there. She wiggled her legs and arms just to make sure. The vibration from the blast gave her pins and needles, like you feel when you've been sitting cross-legged for a while, or leaning on your arm. It added to her misery.

Her ears were ringing, and her eyes swam, the world around her a mere blur. Applejack rolled onto her back, and winced. The burns from the Intelligence's attack still stung.

It forced her to sit up. She shook her head, and knuckled at her eyes, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She saw the Sheriff lying prostrate nearby, and a small ball that must have been Grimes, half-sunk in the dirt and dust.

Then she noticed a little group of people around her. A man was standing over her. Applejack's breath was taken away by the richness of his raiment - a fine pin-striped suit in blue and white, a cravat, a wide-brimmed hat, red leather shoes, and a white dress shirt. His hair was a fine, red, curly mat, and he had a fantastic red mustache.

Before Applejack could say anything, the man was pumping her hand in his own - he had very large, strong hands - in a most affable way, and roaring in a fine, clear, jolly voice. "Well, look at what we've got here, brother of mine, the savior of our little town! Delighted, delighted to make your acquaintance, my dear lady! How wonderful to see you back in one piece! You must certainly tell us all about what you saw inside! And don't forget to include how you defeated the..."

Applejack sank back to the ground, her eyes fluttering closed. All her remaining strength left her at once in the gentleman's wall of enthusiasm.

She heard a melodramatic cry of shock, and opened her eyes to find a woman standing over her, practically in an arabesque pose. Applejack noted that she was heavily laden with jewels and precious metals, and that her dress - purple, spangled with stars, probably of satin or silk - was most definitely of a foreign make. The woman's light blue hair was most elegantly styled in a flattering cut curling about her head and cascading down her back, shimmering in the sun. Elbow-length gloves adorned her hands. Her high-heeled leather boots were obviously imported.

"Oh, the poor girl! Mr. Flam, sir, we do our honored guest wrong by leaving her here like this! Look at her! She's in a state of distress!"

Applejack bit her tongue at the idea of herself ever being in 'distress'. But the woman carried on relentlessly. She had a loud, imperious voice, and gave orders like one used to doing so.

"Quickly, some of you! Maybe you, Derpy, or some of your employees! Take her - and her little friends - away. Give them food, and drink, and a hot bath. Give them brandy and licorice and perhaps a warm glass of milk. Oh, please don't cry, Miss, or The Great and Powerful Trixie shall be most upset! It's hardly becoming for one to be crying and blubbing and getting one's self in such an awful bother."

Trixie's foolish speech did much more than anything else, for immediately Applejack found herself being born aloft by many hands. She glanced around and found Grimes being hauled up like a sack of potatoes. That was the last thing that she saw before she finally surrendered to tiredness and shock.

Darkness swallowed her whole.


	7. Chapter 7

Applejack snapped awake abruptly.

Someone was standing over her bed. She threw off her covers, and sat up to look at the intruder.

It was a small girl Applejack hadn't seen before, in a frilly black dress with white lace. Her brightly colored red hair made Applejack think it was -

"Applebloom!" Applejack cried out, reaching for the girl's shoulder. The girl turned to face her.

Applejack froze. The girl's face was pale, haughty and unkind, a sneer tugging at the corners of her small mouth. A twisted black horn thrust up from her forehead. Her eyes were a weird green hue.

"I don't know who that is!" the girl hissed at Applejack. She recoiled from Applejack's hand.

"What's more, you're the one who destroyed the Chrysalid Scout Ship, aren't you? AREN'T YOU!?" she shrieked. "You HAVEN'T seen the last of us! You just wait! I'll make you VERY sorry you destroyed our Scout Ship!"

"What in Tarnation are you talkin' about?" Applejack asked helplessly. "What scout ship?"

"Don't play dumb!" The little girl pointed at her. "You think you can get away with this!? I'll show you the true power of Princess Crimson, daughter of Queen Chrysalis!"

Applejack's eyes snapped open, again.

She found herself quite alone. It was midday, she could tell, from the bright yellow sunshine streaming in through the picture windows at her left. Her room, while a little musty, was cozily built, with a dresser, a chest of drawers, a mirror, and a chair. There was a door to her far right that very likely led to a bathroom. There was a fireplace in front of her, currently empty.

"Darn it...must've been dreamin'," she murmured to herself, twitching her blankets off. She glanced down, noticing that she'd slept in her clothes, and wished (again) that she could bathe. Her hat was sitting next to her on the night-stand with a lamp. Her guns, she was pleased to see, sat atop it as well, with the belts of bullets, and her rifle leaned against the wall.

There was a knock on her door. "C'min," Applejack grunted, rubbing her eyes and trying to collect her wits.

Applejack found herself holding her breath, hoping it wasn't that creepy little girl again.

Instead it was a pleasant-looking young woman with long, messy blonde hair, as if she'd just rolled out of bed. The first thing Applejack noticed was that the woman must have had a lazy eye...or two. She was very obviously wall-eyed. Applejack had to wonder to herself how the woman ever saw anything. Indeed, she seemed a little uncoordinated. She was wearing a rather gaudy taffeta-and-silk, strapless, that showed off her slender white shoulders.

"Yay, Applejack! Woo-hoo! You woke up!"

"Aaaaand...you are?" Applejack said, cautiously. "An' how in the hay do you know my name?"

"Oh! I'm Derpy! Flim 'n' Flam told me all about you, Applejack! They said you're really brave and strong, and a good fighter!"

"Heh heh...Ah don't know about all that," Applejack said modestly, shuffling her boots. "Sorry," she added in retrospect.

"Wha? Oh, it's nothing! We were gonna clean up that bed, anyway, while you were having your bath!"

Applejack practically leapt out of the bed. "Yeeee-haw! Now THAT's what ah wanted ta hear! Ah feel like ah've got on a extra coat of dirt!"

Derpy nodded. "Yep, yep! We got you a tooth-brush too! And after that, you can go downstairs and eat some food. You like food, Applejack? I like food! Food is nice! Especially when you're hungry!"

"Y'can say that again, Derpy." Applejack rubbed her belly. "Ah'm cloppin' well starved!"

Derpy waved as Applejack went in the bath, and then left.

Applejack came back wrapped in one of the huge, luxurious, fluffy white towels she'd found in the bathroom, smelling deliciously of soap and shampoo. She found a change of clothes waiting for her on dresser.

There was a white shirt, a black jacket, red-and-black shorts, a belt, stockings, and a long black coat - a duster, from the looks of it. They looked strong, durable, and well-made.

She put on the clothes, pulled on her hat, her holsters, stepped into her boots, examined herself in the mirror briefly, adjusting her hat and her long black coat a touch, and then left her quarters.

Applejack found herself on the top floor of a rather full saloon. There was a bar where an impressive array of bottles, decanters, flagons, and barrels stood at the ready, staffed by a perky barmaid who was serving up drink after drink. There were some card tables and a roulette wheel, surrounded by people vying to try their luck.

Waitresses darted about, laden with plates of food, to tables adjacent to the bar. Applejack found herself rather overwhelmed by all the activity. She was standing next to the stairs, wondering where she should go next, when a familiar voice boomed out, and she found herself face-to-face with the mustachioed, red-haired gentleman. Flam, she remembered he was called.

"Applejack! Welcome, welcome! Come, sit down! Have a drink! Have some lunch. I'm sure you must be a little hungry. Take the edge off, why don't you? You could also say hello to our friends. They're all dying to meet the savior of our town. Right this way, Applejack. Pardon me, ma'am," he said grandly, doffing his hat to a finely-dressed woman as she walked past them. The woman gave Applejack a haughty stare. Applejack stared right back, but she let Flam lead her over to one of the tables.

Trixie was sitting there, resplendent in her purple dress spangled with stars, with Derpy sitting nearby her, and another man - the spitting image of Flam, dressed the same, but with a clean-shaven face and chin - at her other side.

They were quaffing a fine white wine from crystal flutes, eating handfuls of prosciutto and melon from a silver plate, and smoking quite expensive cigars. Applejack could smell the richly scented blue smoke rising in a haze above their ashtray. Her mouth watered. Flam maneuvered Applejack into a chair, and then sat down himself next to her.

"Well!" Flam said grandly, shaking out his napkin, and spreading it in his lap. "Here we are. First, a toast, eh? Eh?"

"Why, certainly," Trixie said. "Shall I?"

"Go on, my dear, work your magic," Flam's brother said generously. He had a slightly lighter voice than Flam.

Trixie poured him a fresh glass, then Flam, then Applejack, then herself. She finally came to Derpy. Derpy was so enthusiastic about her drink that she nearly tipped her wineglass over.

Trixie gave Derpy a sharp look. "Now be careful, Derpy. You don't want to do anymore damage than you already have."

"I just don't know what went wrong!" Derpy said, plaintively.

Trixie sighed, filling Derpy's glass up. "All right. To Applejack!" She raised her glass.

"To Applejack!" the others cried, touching their glasses together. Applejack did the same, feeling rather silly all the same. She drank the wine. It was deliciously crisp and tart on her tongue. She drank some more.

"Ooh, it seems as if Miss Applejack is thirsty. Here, have another," Trixie said indulgently, pouring Applejack a little more from the bottle.

"Care for a cigar, Applejack? They're from the Southern reaches. Aged to perfection," Flam said, opening a cedar box.

Applejack looked at him with no small amount of suspicion. But she took a cigar. She knifed off the tip with her dinner knife - much to Trixie's shock - and struck a match, lighting it. "Thanks, pard," she said, leaning back in her chair, and blowing smoke clouds contentedly.

"My pleasure, Miss," Flam said, grandly. "Ah, here comes another appetizer. Oyster? But first, try the melon, try the melon! It is ripe. It is succulent. Come, taste. Have a morsel. Have several."

Applejack dubiously chewed on the melon with prosciutto. The prosciutto was salty and savory, and lent a most agreeable porcine flavor to the juicy melon. She swallowed, and wolfed down another chunk of melon and prosciutto. Then another. And another. She washed down each bite with a swallow or two of the white wine.

A waitress plonked down a platter of oysters on ice before them. Flam rubbed his hands together. "This will settle your stomach nicely, miss. And then, we can discuss the little matter of your payment..."

"Brother, there is ample time for Miss Applejack to dine before you wear her down with such harshly business-like speech! Let us turn our attention to lighter matters! We can set aside the burden of capital for a moment, and assume a holiday mood instead! After all, we would certainly have been sunk if Miss Applejack hadn't stepped into the breach, I say. I believe introductions are in order." Flam's younger brother leaned forward, extending his hand over the table.

"I am Flim, brother to Flam. 'Tis an honor, Miss Applejack, to be in the company of such a talented individual as yourself, and, if you don't mind my saying so, certainly one of the prettiest."

"Yer pushin' it, Flim," Applejack growled, but she shook Flim's hand anyway.

Flam raised his hands theatrically. "Tread carefully, brother! She's a perilous rose, our Applejack!" He turned to Trixie. "Behold, the top financier of Appleloosa, Madam Trixie. But you two have already met, haven't you?"

"Financi-what?" Applejack said.

"I manage the Bank of Appleloosa, my dear," Trixie said grandly, grabbing and shaking Applejack's hand. "In fact, if it would not be too boastful of me to say so, you could very well call me Appleloosa's Financial Magician! Would you care to buy some property? I shall gladly offer you the capital necessary to start your venture! And the interest rates of mine are quite manageable! Rest assured, I'm very understanding! If you miss a payment, you needn't let it ruin your nights! We can forgive it!"

"And if ah miss another payment?" Applejack said dubiously.

Trixie looked nervous. Her face went red, and she hastily downed a swallow of wine. "Well-"

"This, Miss Applejack, is Derpy!" Flim cut in, saving Trixie from having to explain further. Derpy bounced up and down in her seat helpfully. "She owns the very same saloon you're in right now."

"I helped her set it up," Trixie said, glad to have a change of subject. "It was quite an interesting little financial venture. Oh, it was a little difficult for her to adjust to running it at first, but then she came around quickly enough, and now, just look at the place!"

Trixie leaned forward and whispered into Applejack's ear. "She goes all to pieces if you ask her to write her signature, though. Has to use a rubber stamp and ink. Poor girl. Rather unfortunate."

Trixie's breath smelt heavily of alcohol, cigar smoke, and prosciutto. Applejack felt relieved when Trixie sat back down.

"Oyster, Applejack?" Flim said, brightly.

"Ah don't know about-"

He popped the shell to Applejack's lips before she could finish. It was salty, like swallowing a mouthful of brine, with a vaguely fishy flavor, yet a touch of lemon made it deliciously tart. She could taste pepper as well.

Applejack polished off five more of the oysters.

"Wow, Applejack! You ate a looooot!" Derpy hooted. She was on her third shell. The general idea of sucking the succulent oyster flesh seemed to be beyond her, so she was spooning it out.

Trixie sat back and patted her belly. There were only two empty shells before her. "My! I hardly imagine I shall be able to make room for the main course!" she sighed melodramatically.

"Nonsense! Why, it's a good cut of beef, Trixie," Flam said, tapping some ash off his cigar.

"Oh, my stars! I shall probably end up eating it all. And then I shan't fit into my clothes a week later. You -are- terrible, Mr. Flam."

Flam leaned closer to Trixie, with a wicked grin. "Chocolate souffle, after?"

Trixie threw an arm over her eyes. "My wardrobe will suffer! You slay me, Mr. Flam. You slay me."

Applejack thought of something to say to that, and filled her mouth with wine, instead.

"Steady, friends, I think our main course is here," Flim said, winking at Derpy. Derpy was noisily sucking from her glass.


End file.
